


Let's Paint Over This Pointless World

by BlooKazzoo445



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inktale, Gen, He still loves his friends so much, I like using ellipses to express emotions, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Paint Papyrus, Papyrus & basically every other character, Papyrus Remembers Resets, Still getting used to this site and what the understood correct tagging is, not fontcest, tell me if I made any mistakes in tagging, though he doesn't realize what he's remembering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11734896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlooKazzoo445/pseuds/BlooKazzoo445
Summary: He lost everything, though he can't remember what he lost. But, maybe...with this new power he can create his own perfect world.(My take on Ink Papyrus)





	Let's Paint Over This Pointless World

**Author's Note:**

> In which I apparently enjoy titling fics with reworded Undertale quotes :P Basically, I was listening to the song from A Ghost Story trailer because I watched it on Youtube and couldn't get it out of my head and I thought of Inktale...like, Ink Papyrus creating and then watching each AU as it is created and soon destroyed figuratively speaking as angst, death, and destruction comes upon them all. The idea is that Papyrus can't remember being Papyrus or his friends and family, except in small fragmented memories and he searches to create the perfect world as he attempts to recreate what he lost. Why Ink Papyrus and not Ink Sans? Well, I just love Papyrus. :P Sans is cool too, but I feel Papyrus deserves his chance in the spotlight. Besides, Ink Sans already has his own agreed upon cannon and headcannons, so with Papyrus I feel like I can play around with him a bit more.

He was…alive? But that was impossible…wasn’t it? Or, perhaps not? Why on earth did he think he should be dead in the first place? He tried to concentrate, focusing on the fog inside of his mind. Voices, familiar and not familiar crashed into his mind, stringing together so fast it was hard to focus on one:

 **“O-oh, i-it’s nice to finally meet you, Papyrus, my name is-“**  
**“Ha! Ok darling, I now bestow unto you, with all my kingly authority, the role of my personal bodyguard”**  
**“Who am I? Why, I’m your new best friend!”**  
**“COME ON, PUNK! LET’S DRINK UNTIL WE CAN’T FEEL FEELINGS!”**  
**“It is wonderful to finally meet you Papyrus, I am-“**  
**“Would you two like to come in for a cup of tea?”**  
**“THE HUMAN DIDN’T DO A VIOLENCE! I’M SO PROUD! AREN’T YOU, S-“**  
**“I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL SPARE YOU!”**

The voices kept clamoring in his head, constantly interrupting each other, attempting to yell over each other so that they and they alone could be heard. He pressed his hands over his ear sockets, shaking his head. It hurt! Why wouldn’t they shut up!? He groaned in pain, pressing his body into himself as if this would help to stabilize himself.

“STOP IT!” He screeched. That didn’t help. He frowned. He took a deep breath. Ok, ok, focus. He tried to listen to one voice at a time, cataloging them into his head. It took a while, but the voices soon reorganized themselves into coherent wholes as different vocal tones began to become recognizable. It was almost like…a puzzle. He felt immensely satisfied as he systematically went through these…memories? Was that what they were? Whatever they were, it started to become…fun. A new voice suddenly burst into his mind, and it seemed to shatter all the other voices, loudly demanding his attention:

**“heh, love you too, bro.”**

It was such a quite voice, but seemed to grab him in a way none of the memories did. It was almost as if it grabbed him and shook him, trying to tell him…something. He tried to focus, focus on this voice.

 **“alright, welp, that’s the story. goodnight bro.”**  
**“you’re so cool, bro.”**  
**“LET’S PROMISE TO STAY TOGETHER FOREVER.”**  
**“ok.”**  
**“TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY, BROTHER!”**  
**“heh, alright, skelebros forever”**

Suddenly, things began to…make sense. He had no other way to explain it. A warm, protective feeling grabbed at him, stabilizing his mind. The voices suddenly began to make sense and he could now see images attached to each. A flash of large teeth. A nervous fiddling of glasses. Warm pie made with motherly care. Sugary tea and books. Flashing lights and dazzling glitter. A striped sweater. A blue hoodie and a lazy smile. Every image precious and so..beautiful. A wave of emotion shook him, tears pricking his eyes. A feeling of deep desire swept over him. A desire to keep every image, safe with him forever. But, with this deep desire came a confusing sense of deep loss, so sudden and painful he began to cry. He wrapped his arms around his self, hiccupping huge tears. This almost hurt worse than the confusing mess of voices. He gasped large, huge sobs, trembling. He was alone, all alone. Everyone had forgot about him. He whimpered. Why did this thought bring such horror?

He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself and soon his sobs turned into soft hiccups. He finally began to focus on his surroundings, looking to the ground where his black tears created a puddle on the ground. He blinked. Black tears? He dipped his finger into the puddle, only becoming more confused.  
Ink? His brow furrowed and he turned to lie on his back, greeted with a blinding white. It looked blank. It almost begged to be given color. To be given…life? Yes…life. A chuckle escaped his mouth, this blank slate filling him with hope. He sat up, hands planted to the ground to give him support. He paused mid sit, staring at the inky tips of his fingers.

“WHAT ON EARTH…” He held his fingers up in the air, eyes widening at the sight. It was ink, just like the puddle on the ground, a dopple on each tip, never moving to slide down his fingers to his palm. He gasped softly. He spread out his fingers, waved them back and forth in front of him. Clenched his hand into fists. The ink never moved.

“WOWIE…” He breathed out. What could it mean?

He turned his gaze back to the ground, then back to his hand, then back to the ground, then back to his hand. He experimentally swept his hand across the ground, hands freezing in place as the blank slate turned a brilliant blue where his fingers touched it. Amazing, absolutely amazing and…so beautiful. He looked up to the top of the slate again, mouth agape.

“AM I ON…PAPER?” Ridicules! How could one be ON paper?! What would that make him then? To test this theory, he finally stood up, walking to one of the…walls (but if he was on paper, it wasn’t really a wall, was it?). With a few strokes of his finger, he created a simple house. He leaned back, crossing his arms. Not the greatest masterpiece, but it would do. In almost seconds, the house began to grow, causing him to step back as if afraid it would crush him as it nearly sprang out of the wall. It morphed and twisted until it became solid walls with a simple wood door.

“OH MY GOD…” He breathed, hands slowly moving to his mouth. He had…he had created something! With his fingers! He held out a hand to stare at it once more, this time inspecting each finger. “INCREDIBLE…” But…was it even a real house or just a useless picture?  
He slowly strode to the door, reaching out his hands to turn the knob, freezing when he heard a click. Opening the door, he found…blankness. He frowned, placing a hand on his hips.

“WELL, IF I AM GOING TO BE TRAPPED HERE, I MIGHT AS WELL MAKE MYSELF COMFORTABLE.” He nodded to himself, holding out his hand. He was filled with determination.  
He worked for hours as he experimented with colors and styles. He created some very strange things. Socks on the floor. A rock on a table. A picture of a bone. A joke book, which wouldn’t be to strange if it hadn’t came into his head to draw a physic book inside it…and then another, and then another…He couldn’t help but laugh at himself for drawing something so ridiculous.  
But it all felt so nice, so warm that in the end he laid in his newly created race car bed (he found it was as comfy as it was cool) with a happy sigh, gazing up at the ceiling. He felt as if he was…home.

“THEY WOULD’VE LIKED THIS,” He sighed, closing his eyes, hardly able to ponder on the fact he had bestowed upon the images and voices humanness as the feeling of loneliness trickled into his SOUL. It wasn’t as strong as it was. The joy of home still warming him made it more…bittersweet. He wanted those feelings he had felt with those precious memories. It didn’t seem right that there was no one to share home with him. Tears pricked his eyes.

“I MISS THEM.” The statement sounded so natural. He wasn’t sure WHO he missed, but he felt…empty. The warm feeling of home and belonging began to dim. Afterall, it wasn’t home without…without someone. He whined helplessly. What was he supposed to do here all by himself in this house created without a home?

 

What a minute....he created this place. What if…?

“I…I COULD CREATE MY OWN HOME,” He breathed out, the gravity of his newly discovered powers hitting him like a bolt of lightning as he stared at the ceiling.

“MY OWN HOME…” He repeated.

A big grin spread across his face. The thought of a perfect world filled him with…determination.


End file.
